Where the monster of reality lives
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The days are unusually cold and gray. They tick along like the gears of some giant clock that exists behind the everything. I’d like to think that there is some ghost in the machine, but it’s just too hard to believe. It seems more likely that my life exists on a razor edge of being and not being. In any moment it could all go very wrong, but even that would only be for a little while.

But

One has to get up in the morning and that kind of thinking makes one want to hide under the bed instead of getting out of it. It’s best just to push those nasty thoughts to the basement of one’s mind where the monster of reality lives, well chained.

My girl and I have been working. We have a handyman business that we are slowly lifting off the ground. I am not the handy side of this; my girl and I are the business end. We have a 1099 that swings the hammer.

The Florida side of things are ever present. It’s where I make my real living and involves mostly collecting rent and pissing people off. It seems that no one wants to pay rent; and when they flush a diaper, it’s my fault the sewage backs up. I am the “owner”, which means; I am “the man”. “The Man” is never cool.

We also started a web management company, when a friend of ours agreed to a proposal I sent her. We are going to build, migrate, market, and manage her web presence. It’s been fun so far. We are doing the same thing for the Handyman and Web Management businesses.

We haven’t slowed down much lately. I like it this way. My previous life was rather restrictive. I woke up in a box, drove to a box, worked in the box, and went home to a box. Thinking outside the box was not an option.

If I were to talk to some younger version of myself, I would tell him to live in the box for a while. You have to live in the box to know the rules everyone else lives by. Plus the larger the box, the easier it is to slack off. The key is to make sure no one really knows what you do.

The divorce, while ongoing, has been pretty quiet. My youngest daughter seems a little less angry. The ex-wife has not been heaping on the drama yet. Time is flowing ever onward to the day when I write her the last check. I count the days. It does annoy me that my daughter is so infatuated with my ex-wife’s boyfriend. Everything about him is so cool, while everything about me is stupid. Why am I the dork, when this guy was homeless when my ex found him on facebook? He and everyone else over there are supported by my alimony and child support. After three years of living off of me, he finally has a job chasing squirrels out of attics. He wears a funny hat, loves animals, and buys my daughter booty shorts, so he gets to be the cool one. I remember when I was cool, because I took her to Chucky Cheese and bought her Beanie Babies. I miss the kids I had when they were kids. Sure they left the back seat full of cereal and spoiled milk sippy cups, but they were fun too.

I’ve been reading Terry Pratchett’s “A slip of the Keyboard”. He is one of my favorite authors. Perhaps the favorite, if it wasn’t for Stanislaw Lem. I suppose you could call the race a tie. It annoys me that they both had to die. It’s like drinking from a fountain, watching the water slowly trickle away, knowing they will never fill it. Writers should be able to pass their worlds on, like a king passes power to his heirs. This way I could still read new Disc World, Middle Earth, and The Cyberiad novels. If Harold and the Pirates, ever becomes big; I will find a young heir to carry the torch.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


Answer for question 4380.
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If you were in a band, what instrument/role would you play? What kind of music would your band play? What would be the name of your band?
As the lead singer, writer guitarist, producer, slave owner, and vocalist of Scrotal Damage, we would play everything loud and obnoxious. We would be that cool youtube Indie band that never happened.

We would all grow beards, drink PBR, wear skinny jeans, and play most of our music on a apple watch that was only available at E3 if you wanked Wozniak at 3pm on a Sunday.

Yes we are cooler than you....because we heard of us first.

Answer for question 4370.
jp7
What do you have taped on your fridge door (or similar location)? Why do you keep those things?
The heads of my fallen enemies. I keep them there to remind me of the glory of battle and the lamentation of the women.

Plus they match the torsos I use to line the cabinets.

Dead people slow down
jp7

The post office lost my ex’s alimony, and this makes me smile.

My ex’s boyfriend got a job. It was from one of those animal wrangler type companies, when you are too dumb to get a pest control license.

I’ve been busy. It’s a fun busy. We started a handyman business, which is going well. We just won a proposal to manage a website for our management business, and I am in the process of renovating an apartment building for the real estate business. I am also writing a comic called Harold and the Pirates, or if you are a super fan, HATP. I have big plans for that comic. I am going to be an internet star, even though I am too old and not good looking. I am going to hire a kid to pretend to be me, only cooler with a better hair style. I need a hipster that still uses Livejournal, but does so ironically because now the latest social media is to just write shit on bricks and throw them at people. They are special bricks that only take five characters and use bluetooth to connect to each other via the wall. They aren’t available for sale yet, but you can give money to their kick starter and get a great deal at $100.00 dollars a brick. Early adopters get special yellow bricks, which are cooler than the red bricks everyone else is going to have.

And

And I am learning to play classical guitar. My cats “the boys” are critical but fair. They hate it, but I am learning the D string, learning the D we call it. I think they will be happy with me once I stop singing along with the music. I am never going to stop singing.

This is what happens when you give me too much time and space. I seem to fill it. I don’t like slowing down. Dead people slow down.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


Open letter to ex
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Hey ex-wife,

I met you a lifetime ago in the cluttered aisles of Kmart. I hated that job. One needs a certain amount of love for people at their worst to enjoy retail. I wanted to quit before they hired me.

I bought a manual type writer, and I was going to write “the novel.” It smelled like magic, and the hard staccato clicks banged words into existence with efficiency. I was going to be too famous for retail.

I am not sure what you fell in love with back then or what you saw from over your register. You were dating a heavy set hairy guy from sporting goods at the time and you were not happy.

I left Kmart to find my life in the islands of Key West. In a shitty apartment, surrounded by cats, whose descendants were the pets of pirates, I set my fingers to bang out the words. I didn’t know we were writing love letters, but somehow the black lines flowed into the life we became.

It ended on our bed when you rather calmly asked for a divorce. You were pissed when I smiled.

There is so much that I don’t understand about what happened in between. I don’t know when you stopped loving me. I don’t know why we never had a real conversation, one where we connected. We never talked, and when we did, it wasn’t honest.

I know that something was broken with us from the start.

The sex sucked.

I worked so hard, twelve hour days, cooking dinner when I got home, and cleaning. There were times when I thought your only job was to anchor the couch into the living room floor.

I didn’t cheat on you a little. I cheated on you a whole lot. I wish I could tell you that I regret it. I can tell you that it is not as much fun as a healthy relationship.

Do you remember when you had your family empty our house, took the kids, and accused me of domestic violence, so you could get a personal protection order? I do. Do you remember ever apologizing? Yeah, I don’t either.

I took you back, because I realized that every other weekend isn’t a way see your kids grow up. I stayed with you for over decade, because our kids were that important.

You made out pretty good in the divorce. You got alimony, child support and a nice check. Your parachute has been golden.

I was angry at you for a long time. I hated you even. I could list out the reasons why, rank them by rage level, and include a brief justification. But my rage has cooled to a hard dead little ball, and empathy isn’t a strong trait of yours anyway. There is little value in bringing it all up.

In two and a half years I won’t be supporting you, and our house will be sold. The rock we rolled downhill will finally come to a rest and sink quietly into the past. I count the days sometimes.

Most days I just wake up, smile, hug my cats, and smile again. I am living the dream I had when we were together, only I am awake and this is real.

I guess what I want to say is thanks for letting me go.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


Harold and the Pirates: Nature of the Gravity Drive
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Gravity is an efficient form of interstellar propulsion. It is currently being applied using sling shot orbits around interstellar masses. This process utilizes only a small amount of fuel and can propel a craft accurately through the visible universe.

It cannot be piloted well through the non-visible universe. This is the portion of the universe that exists beyond our telescopes, due to the limitations of the speed of light and objects that are difficult to see, because they emit little to no radiation and have little to no gravitational effects on the universe around them. Another limitation of interstellar travel is that current technology can only travel at best a small fraction of light speeds.

A gravity drive can be constructed using a super dense and super massive ball of protons. This super dense material is held in a plasma by a magnetic fields. Magnetic fields are generated through the use of anti-protons.

The ship travels by falling towards the dense ball of protons and as it falls the anti-proton field pushes the ball away. The super massive field bends space time causing it to compress in front of it and stretch behind it.

The result is a space drive that allows a craft to travel many times the speed of light in relation to space around it.

It is important to note that one mustn’t mix the two proton types.

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at theatherofjps.com.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


Harold and the Pirates: Nature of the Universe
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We see time as a stream of events. It  flows, and we are the stone in the stream.

Have you ever watched a movie frame by frame. We know that movies work by running the frames together quickly enough to fool our brains into thinking there is only one continuous action, instead of many singular events.

Space time appears as an endless stream of movement. What if the nature of existence was that our entire universe is a series of slices all frozen still. We exist forever within an infinitely divisible set of individual space times. The entire life span of the universe exists right now, both past and present.

Space time itself is not constant. It can be stretched thin or compressed into a singularity. It is acted upon by gravity. Gravity is a universal force which interacts across time and the multi verse.

When enough mass coalesces into a single point, the resulting singularity drops matter and space time into what will become another universe. The big bang is the very beginning of this process.

Dark Matter are areas where there are intense gravitational pockets. These pockets are caused by massive objects of an adjacent universe, where the mass is intense enough to effect the other universe across space time. It is in these areas that space time can be compressed, so much so that it can in places become become more uniform. The individual slices of space time become glued together like the pages of a book. The entire span of space time for that universe exists as a single compressed strand.

The universe ends when it’s expansion stops. It’s expansion is powered by its initial drop into existence. The resulting explosion of space time causes it to form. Gravity acts against this process as a weak but persistent force. Over time the universe collapses back into a singularity, starting the process again.

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at theatherofjps.com.

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Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


Lesson learned….never buy a Honda
jp7

My girl’s pop owns a Honda Accord, and he had some work done to it by a friend who left the battery cables off it for a while. It’s the redneck way of clearing an error code.

Honda likes to fuck its customers through the radio. On most Hondas, the keyless entry and alarm system are wired through the radio. This means that you can’t just replace their shitty radio with something that doesn’t sound like a pregnant tin can shitting its brains out through your ear hole. You have to wire the new radio through the fucking old one.

When my girl’s pop got his car up and running again, the radio would not work. All it would say was code 1, until you fucked with it, then it would say code 2, until you kept fucking with it and it said code e.

It seems that Honda decided that their radio was so important that they programmed a lock on the radio, so that when it lost power it requires a certain key be entered before it will work again. Yeah, they took the most worthless thing on the car and put an anti-theft feature on it. The code is included with the car, unless you bought it used like he did.

Or you can clear the code by unplugging and replugging the battery, find the serial number of your radio by turning it off and turning it back on while holding the 1 and 6 key, and call honda to get the unlock code.

Really Honda? Why not just kick your customers in the teeth every time they buy one of your fucking cars. Maybe you can put a fucking dildo on the seat so your customers can go fuck themselves, since you hate them so much.

None of that worked by the way. I can clear the code e from his radio, but it wont respond to holding down the 1 and 6 key. He is going to try and bring the car to the dealer.

Lesson learned….never buy a Honda. They are assholes.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

Tags:

Fuck Gene
jp7

I’m kind of annoyed today. I am going through my yearly combination of Christmas stress, Obamacare stress, ex wife stress, and end of year tax stress. All these forces combine to just piss me off to the point where I hope that a one ton block of chronic would fall out of the sky, not to get me high, but to kill me and provide a decent party for those around me. It’s also been a dream of mine to have a hot girl do bong hits off my but crack.

I have a limited amount of time to go through the Obamacare enrollment process. I have been putting it off because I knew it would be cluster fuck. Sure enough, I can’t even log in. I was a democrat before Obamacare and now I want to see both of my political parties drown in their own shit. I would rather see the libertarians take office in a violent and rapey coup. But I can’t get what I want, including decent health insurance.

I tried to log in and the website failed, great. So I use the “forgot password” feature. That’s cool. It sends off a reset password request to a e-mail address that I never use.

Why? Well because when I first went through this fucking mess I used my main e-mail account to set everything up. This account failed to the point where it isn’t connected to the website but in their database filled with someone else’s information, because the person I called on the phone was a fucking retard. I can’t get any of those assholes at Obamacare central to understand this, so this dead fucking account will stay there until a giant rock from space comes down and kills everybody. It basically serves the purpose of preventing me to use my primary e-mail address for my health insurance.

So I have to look up the password for my spam account find the e-mail and log in. From there the gate keeper asks three security questions. Great, I wrote down all the security questions and the answers last year. No, the fucking site asks me two questions I set up and one I didn’t. It wants to know the date of my parents anniversary. Okay, if I were a good person I would know this. I don’t. I don’t even know the date of my own wedding anniversary. This may or may not have anything to do with my divorce. She knew she was marrying a social retard when we started this.

So I call my dad and vent. He says “Well Gene was able to login just fine”. Who the fuck says that. If I told him I had prostrate cancer would he say “Well Gene’s Prostrate works just fine. “ Fuck Gene. The asshole doesn’t do much other than cost us money. I asked my mom when their anniversary was and she said she didn’t know and hung up on me.

If anyone needs me, I will be alone in my room beating off.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.

Tags:

Harold and the Pirates
jp7

Who wants to read my new comic? Better yet, who wants to draw it?

Harold and Pirates script

Creative Commons License
Harold and the Pirates by Jason Peal is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at Harold and the Pirates.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at theatherofjps.com.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


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